


Nemesis

by Ryukotsusei



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Complicated Relationships, Denial of Feelings, Depression, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Half-Human - Freeform, Half-Sibling Incest, Internal Conflict, Love/Hate, M/M, Marking, Mating Bites, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Past Child Abuse, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Self-Hatred, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:15:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24238642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryukotsusei/pseuds/Ryukotsusei
Summary: Arima survives his suicide attempt. Unable to speak, he is confronted with a situation he would not have thought possible. Furuta wants to eliminate Tsuneyoshi Washuu and now shape the CCG according to his own ideas. With the aim of wiping out the old world order completely, Furuta does not shy away from dragging everyone in his immediate vicinity into ruin. But Arima is determined to use his second chance to stop his half-brother before it is too late...
Relationships: Arima Kishou/Furuta Nimura
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Nemesis

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my native language. I apologize in advance for any errors, but I hope that it is legible.  
> I hope, you enjoy reading! :D

Arima should have died fighting Kaneki Ken.  
Everything had gone exactly as planned and there had been nothing for months that he longed more for. Choosing suicide had meant a lot to him.  
Once, at least once, he wanted to decide for himself. To act of one's own free will and not just to execute commands as if by remote control.  
Arima did not even feel self-determined or free when he decided to cooperate with Eto and turn his back on the CCG. In the end, someone else always held the threads in his hand. The driving force - it had never been himself. 

He was only a means to an end. A useful tool. No more and no less. But that was fine. He knew it no other way, so it had hardly played a role for a long time.  
Arima had to learn from early childhood that he could no longer expect a normal life. At least he was needed and was not completely useless. He had a duty and was not sorted out.  
It was a sad truth, but that alone had been enough to keep him afloat for many years. But this did not change the fact that he was abused for decades to kill.  
And no matter how hard Arima tried, he couldn't stop a piece of his soul from perishing every time. 

In the end there was probably only a miserable remnant left and surely he would have to atone for his sins in hell for all eternity. Arima had accepted this fate.  
He didn't deserve anything else. So many lives wiped out by his hand. . .  
He'd take his own too. Kaneki shouldn't have to carry that load. The chains that had taken his breath away for such an infinitely long time, he would blow them up himself. Yes, he would die. Proud and self-determined. For a higher purpose. Before he became blind or his body began to disintegrate like that of a dead man, even though he was still alive.

No one should have to see him like that and no one would decide ever again what to do with him. And yet he was lying here. In a bed with an infusion needle in the back of his right hand. His head felt infinitely heavy and his eyes kept closing, even though he tried to keep them open. Swallowing was almost impossible and his throat hurt terribly. When he had been in such pain the last time. . . he couldn't remember that.  
Without exception, he survived confrontations with ghouls without any wounds. He had never been seriously injured in his entire life. 

That was wrong. This was all wrong. 

Arima could clearly remember how he had cut his throat with a blade, his blood poured over the white lilies, and how he lay dying in Kaneki's arms.  
He could even remember the look in his eyes. Desperate and so full of fear and pain. Arima could not explain it, but he had, without wanting it, built up a strange connection to Kaneki. There had always been a strange familiarity between them that Arima felt with no one else. Did Kaneki see the same thing in his eyes? This should have been the end of it, yet Arima stared at the ceiling of a room unknown to him. He was unable to turn his head. Also the attempt to at least bend his fingers went into the void. He could only stare upwards. The ceiling was white and littered with even perforations that kept blurring in front of Arima's eyes.

It was neither very cold nor very warm. His body felt strangely numb, only through his throat was this burning pain again and again, as if someone were pulling a glowing blade through his flesh at regular intervals. Was he perhaps dead after all and this was now a kind of afterlife?  
Would he be judged now? Was this already his punishment? From the corner of his eye, however, he saw a narrow beam of light falling into the room to his right.  
He guessed there had to be a window. Was he in the hospital? But how? Who would have brought him here before he could bleed to death?  
But all these questions slowly dissolved in the thick fog.

The white blanket that enveloped his body seemed like lead, squeezing down his chest. Somewhere, devices were beeping. They had to be very close to him, but the shrill tone still echoed as if from afar. The white wallpaper, the ceiling and the blanket under which he lay - everything seemed to swallow all the sounds and every thought that Arima wanted to grasp. His consciousness began to slip away from him and he lacked the will to fight it. 

"Oh, you're awake", suddenly a familiar voice said very clearly, with an put-on gaiety - to his left, in the shadow of the room, "How are you? You caused quite a mess, everything in your immediate vicinity was soaked with your blood. The best washing machine doesn't get your clothes clean anymore, your grey trench coat is completely ruined, you know?" 

Arima opened his brittle lips a gap wide, intending to return something he didn't even know exactly what it was supposed to be, but the burning, sharp-piercing pain only grew stronger and no sound left his throat. He couldn't speak.  
Arima turned his head slightly despite a new wave of pain, so that he could at least look his half-brother in the eyes. Furuta sat on a chair, which stood at a careful distance from his bed. He's holding a book in his hands. Probably he's been sitting here for a while. Furuta smiled fake, like he smiled at everyone around him all the time. He had put that expression on his face far too often. Arima wondered if it wasn't exhausting at some point to keep up this false smile. 

"Hmm? What's the matter? You look like you want to say something", Furuta noted and then shook his head in amusement.  
As if he were a child trying to put together two wrong pieces of the puzzle and didn't understand why it didn't want to succeed.  
"Did you forget?", asked Furuta and drove his index finger horizontally over his own throat, "Maybe that'll help you, won't it? I mean, you didn't do a bad job. Almost everything neatly cut. Well, could it be that you might have hesitated?"  
Furuta closed the book and stood up. Creeping like a black cat, he moved toward Arima's bed. His steps caused no noise on the linoleum floor.  
He effortlessly bridged the distance between them. Furuta looked down at him. In his dark eyes flare a kind of triumph, which completely eluded Arima's understanding.

"The great Arima Kishou, the white Shinigami of the CCG, the prodigy in our ranks and darling of our esteemed father, has failed to kill himself. It's kind of sad, isn't it? Don't you find it a little disrespectful to those you so mercilessly slaughtered? You would have owed them to die, you know?"  
Arima blinked. This way of thinking seemed frighteningly familiar to him. . .  
In the end, was it himself who had already had such thoughts?

"You just had to cut a little deeper. Then no one could have helped you. Then you would have bled to death. And if you had hurried a little bit to die, no one else would have died trying to snatch you from Kaneki Ken's arms. Say-", Furuta leaned closer over him, "How selfish are you?" 

Furuta's face had suddenly become blurred, so blurred that Arima could hardly recognize his facial expression. Arima's eyesight has been fluctuating for years, getting worse, only to improve sometimes again - but now the moments in which he saw his environment in razor-sharp images have become increasingly rare.  
Only slowly did the meaning of what Furuta had just revealed to him seep into his mind. People had died. Because of him. 

But what's the point? That didn't make any sense. Why would anyone risk their lives just to save him? He had never bothered to establish any connection with the people around him and tried to keep away those who still surrounded him day after day because of his work. He was only weak with Kaneki.  
He had let him get too close. . . but when did that even happen? Kaneki. . . did he kill those people? Why didn't he just leave him there to die?  
He wasn't stupid enough to think he could have saved him by himself. Or had Kaneki's despair suddenly erupted in the form of ruthless violence?

No matter how he look at it, what happened was his fault. Furuta seemed to wait patiently for anything, perhaps for a reaction on his part. A frown, a twitching of his hands. . . But Arima only stared past his half-brother with lifeless eyes as if he were dead. 

"Well, anyway. . . you really couldn't have picked a better time to be among the living again. You know, today is a very special day. "  
A special day? Arima had no idea what he was talking about.  
"You certainly remember the date on which the Sunlit Garden was built?", began Furuta. What date. . . ?  
Arima didn't understand. He didn't even know what date was. . .

Furuta did not wait for his answer, which would never have come anyway, and claps his hands.  
"That's right! That's today! I mean, when we were kids, that's what we've been drum into often enough. After all, the Washuu are so proud of it, as if they had opened a fucking Disneyland. " Furuta laughed joylessly for a moment. 

"In any case, I thought that today would be a wonderful day to celebrate that these bastards built hell on earth for us. This achievement should definitely be sufficiently appreciated by me, shouldn't it? After all, I will soon be the new head of the CCG. And as someone so important, I should probably organize a big farewell party for our honorable father. Today is perfect for that, don't you think? He has earned his retirement hard, must have been exhausting to destroy thousands of lives." 

Sunlit Garden. . . Disneyland. . . Farewell party. . . new head of CCG. . . retirement. . . But for the Washuu and for the children of Sunlit Garden there was no retirement at all. . .  
The words were hard for Arima to grasp and somehow didn't want to fit together.  
There were just too many and it was so incredibly difficult for him to keep his eyes open at all.  
Exhausted, Arima gave up and close his tired eyes.  
He had hardly been fully conscious, but breathing alone seemed to deprive him of a lot of strength. Despite everything, he could still feel Furuta's penetrating gaze. 

"If you try to die again, go ahead. I won't stop you, Kishou. Now, if you'll excuse me. . . I think it's about time to prepare everything."

But Arima did not hear his half-brother any more.


End file.
